Kate Hardy - The Italian GP's Bride

‘As friends,’ he added, almost as if he’d guessed why she was stalling. ‘No pressure.’

She nodded. ‘Then thank you. I’d like that.’

‘Good.’ His eyes glittered. ‘I’ll pick you up here the day after tomorrow, at half past ten. Do you have good walking shoes?’

‘Yes.’

‘Wear them.’ Then, to take the edge off the command, he gave her one of those slow, sensual, knee-buckling smiles—a smile that made her very glad she was sitting down. ‘Of course, you could wear high heels if you prefer. But you’d end up with blisters.’

Which he, as a doctor, would insist on treating. The idea of his fingers stroking her skin—even if it was only to put a protective plaster around a blister—made desire flicker through her.

He glanced at his watch. ‘My fifteen minutes is up. Unless you can be late?’

She shook her head. ‘Not this time. It’s…complicated.’

‘You don’t have to explain, bella mia.’ He reached across the table, took her hand, raised it to his lips and kissed it—just the way he had the previous day, when he’d dropped her off at the hotel.

Every nerve-ending seemed to heat, and, shockingly, she found herself wondering what it would be like to feel his mouth against her own instead of her hand.

Oh, lord.

‘Thank you for the drink,’ she said politely. ‘And I’m sorry I didn’t, um, have a chance to finish it.’

‘Non importa. You warned me we only had fifteen minutes.’ He smiled at her. ‘Have a pleasant evening. And I will see you on Thursday morning, yes?’

‘Thursday.’ And she really hoped her voice didn’t sound as croaky to him as it did to her.

THE evening went better than Eleanor had expected: Bartolomeo’s sisters were a little wary of her to start with, but gradually started to thaw. She spent Wednesday morning exploring the city and the afternoon with Bartolomeo.

And then it was Thursday morning.

Her date-that-wasn’t-a-date with Orlando.

She knew the second that he walked into the hotel foyer—even though she was reading a guidebook to Pompeii rather than watching the door—because the air in the room changed. Became electric.

And she noticed that just about every woman in the room was watching him as he walked towards her. His movements were fluid, graceful—almost like a dancer’s. Beautiful. Yet he didn’t seem aware of the turned heads. He just came to a stop in front of her and smiled.

‘Buon giorno, Eleanor. You are ready?’

‘Sure.’ She closed the guidebook and stuffed it into her handbag.

‘Then let’s go.’ He held his hand out to pull her to her feet. ‘So, today—on your holiday that isn’t exactly a holiday—you are officially on holiday, yes?’

The convoluted phrasing made her laugh—and made her realise how ridiculous she was being. There was no need to be cagey about why she was there. And, given what Orlando did for a living…she could do with a second medical opinion to confirm her suspicions. ‘Yes.’

‘Bene.’ He ushered her down the steps to where he’d parked the car, and opened the door for her. She hid a smile. All the women were staring at them and envying her for being with someone so gorgeous. And all the men were staring at them and envying her for climbing into a car that gorgeous. Well, they were probably envying Orlando, actually, for being behind the wheel.

‘What?’ Orlando asked as he closed the driver’s door.

‘Nothing.’

He tipped his head on one side. ‘Nothing?’

‘Your car’s attracting attention, that’s all.’

He shrugged. ‘There are plenty of cars like this in Italy.’

A low-slung, sleek black convertible. ‘Flashy.’

He slanted her a grin. ‘I prefer to use the word “fun”.’

He would. ‘Why are we driving there? The tourist guide said the best way to get to Pompeii is by train.’ Driving in Naples would be a nightmare. Full of traffic jams—worse even than London, she thought.

‘Ah, so you were reading while you were waiting for me?’ He laughed. ‘It’s true—but I wanted to take you along the coast afterwards. So this saves time coming back to Naples. This is your first time in Naples, I take it?’

‘My first time in Italy, full stop,’ she said.

He smiled. ‘You chose the best place. Rome is flashy. Venice is…’ he made a noise of contempt ‘…flooded.’

She laughed. ‘Isn’t that the point?’

‘Maybe, but they also have alta acqua. Which is very far from pleasant, believe me.’ He shuddered. ‘Naples—now, we have Vesuvius. And the bay. We have the most beautiful churches in Italy. Oh, and the best pizza. Best gelati, too.’

She grinned. ‘I’ll take it as read that you love your home city, then.’

‘That’s why I came back,’ he said simply. ‘Don’t get me wrong—I was happy in London. But this is home.’

‘It’s sort of my home too, in a way.’

‘How so?’

He sounded interested, yet not pushy, and she found herself telling him. ‘I never knew but my mother came here the year before I was born. She fell in love with someone. It didn’t work out. But then I heard my mother’s name on this radio programme—one of these ones where people search for their lost loves—and it was the man she’d fallen in love with. So I got in touch.’

‘And you’re here to meet him?’

‘Yes.’ She paused. ‘That’s why I said I wasn’t really here on holiday. Because it turns out that he’s my biological father.’

‘And you had no idea?’

‘Not until after my mother died, no. I mean, you hear of these “secret babies”—but you don’t expect to find out that you’re one of them.’

‘It must have been a shock for you,’ he said, sounding sympathetic. ‘You were meeting him for the first time the other night?’

‘Second,’ she said. ‘This time, I met his family.’

‘Ouch. Difficult for you,’ he said.

‘More difficult for them—this English girl appearing out of nowhere after thirty years and claiming to be related.’

‘We have warm hearts and big families over here. Give it time. They’ll get used to the idea.’ He reached over with his right hand and squeezed her hand. ‘You’re very brave to come all this way on your own. You told me about your mother, but you have no brothers, no sisters?’

‘Just me. And my dad—the man who brought me up, the man I’ve always thought of as my dad—died the year after I graduated.’

Orlando left his hand curled round hers. ‘So this man—your biological father—is now your only family.’

‘Something like that.’

‘So what about your friend, the one who’s a GP? Wouldn’t she come with you?’

‘She would have done—but she’s six months pregnant.’

The penny clearly dropped. ‘So no travelling.’

She shrugged. ‘There’s just me.’

‘Just you,’ he said softly.

She swallowed hard. ‘Except…Can I ask your advice?’

‘Of course.’

‘Bartolomeo said he’d just reached that age when he’s curious about what might have been—that’s why he tried to find Mum. But I think there’s more to it than that. He isn’t that old—he’s in his early fifties, the prime of his life. And yet he’s tiring easily, he’s pale and I’ve noticed that he gets a little out of breath when he walks. That’s not normal. So I’m thinking either a heart condition or maybe AML.’ Without examining him herself, she couldn’t give a proper diagnosis. But the symptoms she’d noticed were definitely worrying. ‘And I was wondering…maybe he wanted to find Mum to make his peace with her. Before…’

Her throat closed up and she couldn’t say the words.